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Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » A father's debt, a lord's command (Medieval)(Open)

"Hear me out... young one... and hear well the words of wisdom, of one who has walked the path of shame.

The living world is known for its harsh and cruel ways. Unfairness, injustice, trickery and treacherous dubious dealings are rife among the living, high and low born alike, whatever race or creed they hail from. Everywhere miscreants take advantage of those naive and foolish enough to engage in absurd bargains and there certainly isn't such a thing as free lunch.

Unfair at it is, when the father falls, it is his son who pays the price... or his wife... or his daughter.... or all of them, even himself. The same goes for reckless lords who barter thoughtlessly without the least care. When you squeeze such nobles, it is the peasants who feel the pinch and bear the brunt of it all, it is the peasants who endure the bitter taste of slavery.

One thing is certain... in this realm... nobody can avoid death nor taxes... and no debt ever never remains unpaid" assured Chaucer, his eyes haunted by grim past experiences, a time of persecution and of want, as he gazed at the flames from the hearth whilst craddling the warm mug with his hands, telling his narrative to whoever cared to hear from among the patrons at Morgan's tavern

Around his neck glimered the metal cuff that clearly singled out his condition as a slave, perhaps a fugitive one, perhaps one for sale, or simply one at work... by his feet laid an empty small woolen cap with which to collect whatever coinage and donations the patrons might want to leave for him to benefit off their generosity.

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CHAUCER bard playwright jester (played by Tusitala2017) Topic Starter

((OOC - Open RP, feel free to post your reply. 3rd person RP narrative, no godmodding))
(Not really sure if this is still open, but I'm interested)

Tonaf Odarg had always dreamt of adventure. He'd fantasized greatly about travelling the corners of the world, shifting in his quilt on those sleepness nights, where he was wide awake even at midnight, a dim wax candle by the side of his bed to keep himself comfortable while he brooded on his fantasies. His adoptive father was a hermit scholar, and Tonaf had learned to read from the man before his death. That was a decade ago, and Ton had indulged in many of those same sleepless nights under honey glow of a lit candle since then. He'd wondered if the tales and legends hidden inside those dusty tomes were true, maybe there truly such creatures like beastly dragons and graceful Elves beyond the canopy of Glythryncote forest. Perhaps he would meet his estranged kindred in the mountain holds of the Dwarves, where he would be dubbed a nickname other than 'Wood Dwarf' as he was known by travelling tallfolk.

He remembered these fantasies with a knot in his heart, because this was not the way he'd wanted his adventures to begin. Tonaf was no longer 'Wood Dwarf,' or 'The lumberjack.' He was Tonaf the conscript, clad in a uniform of leather and chainmail, his body draped under a poorly fitted tabard bearing the coat of arms of his feudal lord. The mustering square was a bare, greying courtyard, and not even the cloudless skies above could remedy the poor mood of the day. He was brought to attention with a century of able bodied men, all tall-folk, their uniforms glinting under the early morning sun looming above him like statues. Drill time again, Ton sighed, still half-awake as he remembered his bitter accomodation.

They came abruptly to his little underground home, sat in a forest in the middle of nowhere at all. That was how Ton like it, no folk to bother him save the critters that ended up on his dinner plate. That was until two weeks ago, when bailiffs who'd never bothered him before; men who served a lord whose name he'd never known (and frankly already forgot) came to his earthly stump. They were steel clad, their hands caressed the hilt of their blades.

"By the immediate authority of the Lord, you are hereby compelled by the crown to serve..."

For whatever reason, he didn't argue. Their presence was so abrupt, their features so noble, that he felt unable to argue his freedom out of fear that they would kill him where he stood. Perhaps he would have fought back, if he had known that the bailiffs would reappropriate his home and honest wealth. They had come to force him from his home and steal his life's worth in the name of nobility, and it was with that thought that Tonaf struggled to quell the stirring rage that burned in his brain like hot coals.

Tonaf gripped the pole of his axe in frustration, with not even the drill sergeants incessant barking to stir him from his reverie.

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